In the Shadows of Perros
by rscoil
Summary: Among the gravestones of Perros, Christine's dark secret is revealed.


"Every month, Christine. I cannot tolerate this blatant disregard for your instrument."

On the other side of the mirror, she fiddled with the sleeve of her dress. "Angel, please," she said. Her voice held only a shadow of its usual splendor. "You must not seek answers on this."

Erik rested his head against the glass in frustration. "Three days a month, you go to Perros to pray at your father's grave. Every time you return, you sing as though your throat was rubbed with sandpaper. My concern is for you and your health, not only your instrument."

"Angel, if you truly wish to know, you will have to ask the Almighty. I will say no more on the subject."

* * *

The following month found Erik hidden among a copse of trees at the edge of the Perros graveyard. The day stretched on with no sign of Christine and it was nearing sunset when she finally appeared.

She moved among the graves like a shadow. This was not his bright, radiant angel. This was a woman in pain. He suddenly realized how much she hid from him, from all of the Opera.

Erik had heard that true Parisians mask their emotions, but had never developed the skill himself. Why bother with a conceptual mask when a literal one was part of his daily reality? It had never occurred to him that Christine hid herself as well. Here, beyond the eyes of Paris, her mask fell away. Grief shrouded her features and tears traced a path down her cheeks.

She arrived at her father's grave and sank to the ground. She carried a large bundle of blankets in her arms, which she spread in front of the grave. He was startled to notice that her dress was little more than a thick dressing gown.

Did she intend to sleep here in the cemetery? His thoughts flashed to his coffin. Perhaps that would be better received than he expected.

She spoke to the stone as though her father sat there instead. "Here we are, Papa. Another month gone." She laid a hand on the monument. "I am so worried. The angel was so angry after last month's visit, but I cannot control what happens to my throat. Oh, Papa, I cannot lose him! I must already live without you. I could not bear it if the angel leaves me as well. What can I do?"

She repeated the question and it was little more than a broken whisper. "What can I do?"

Erik allowed his voice to permeate the silence of the graveyard. Soft and sweet, he sang the first song he thought of, the first song he ever sang for her.

Christine's eyes snapped open. "Angel?"

"I am here, Christine."

Her eyes grew wide in terror. "No, Angel. Please, leave me be! You cannot be here!"

Erik paused in confusion. "Christine, do you fear me?"

"No, Angel. Never." Her eyes looked to the darkening sky. "I cannot explain, Angel, but please leave me for tonight. Trust me as I trust you."

Erik deliberated. "Do you not wish for my presence?"

"Always, even in my darkest hour. But tonight, you must leave me. I do not want you to see—"

Her voice cut off. As the first rays of moonlight broke through the clouds, she froze in the pale glow.

The scream that tore through her throat would haunt Erik's nightmares for years to come. It cut through the stillness of the night and shattered the calm of the cemetery. The voice he so loved became strained. It fell into a low, guttural tone before dropping into a whimper.

Erik heard the unmistakable crack of breaking bones and the pop of dislocating joints. He could only watch in horror as Christine convulsed and fell to the ground. Each new, grisly sound was accompanied by a yelp or a whimper, none of which sounded particularly human.

Her shape changed before his eyes. Long curls receded into her scalp as fur sprang from her porcelain skin. Somewhere in the turmoil, her skull distended and the dressing gown was ripped to shreds.

At long last, the noises subsided and her form stilled. There, bathed in moonlight, was a massive wolf.

Slowly, the great beast raised her head and surveyed her surroundings. She approached the grave and rested her head against it.

"Christine?" Erik's voice spoke as though from the stone.

The wolf cocked her head in confusion. She sniffed the air and turned.

Erik froze. She was looking right at him.

There was no way to outrun her, no way to escape where his scent would not give him away. Erik waited with bated breath as the wolf approached.

She stopped in front of him. A low growl rose from her throat, but she made no further movement.

"Christine?" he asked hesitantly.

The wolf nodded. Her eyes watched him with suspicion. She moved closer and nudged his face with her muzzle.

No, not his face. His mask. "You want me to take off the mask?"

Again, she nodded.

"Christine, you should not wish to look upon my face. It is a monstrous sight."

She snorted and pawed at her own face. Her meaning was clear. She doubted he was as monstrous as she was.

Being face to face with a werewolf put things into perspective, and Erik was somehow able to push aside his own vanity. With trembling fingers, he removed the mask.

Time stopped for a tense moment, and then she snorted derisively.

Erik scowled. "That is hardly fair, Christine."

She walked back toward her father's grave, tail swinging tauntingly. She sat on the blankets and looked pointedly between him and the space beside her.

He sat reluctantly. "I am sorry you had to find out this way. I am not what you thought I was."

She shook her head and moved toward him. Her nose was wet as she nudged his neck.

He stared at her in confusion. "You want me to sing?"

She nodded and he settled back on the cool ground. He wrapped a blanket around himself for good measure and stared up at the stars, letting his voice fill the night. His music—their music—danced around them.

Christine laid down beside him, her head resting on his chest. He ran a hesitant hand through her fur and her eyes closed in contentment. When she found sleep shortly thereafter, he was not far behind.

* * *

Erik woke in the dim light of predawn. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and a moment longer to realize that he was not in his coffin. Something warm and furry was pressed against his chest. He drew a sharp breath as the memory of the previous night rushed back to him.

The wolf was asleep beside him. She snuggled closer and he welcomed her warmth in the chill of the morning.

Her body stiffened as the sun crept over the horizon. She convulsed again as the reverse transformation began.

Erik was helpless in the face of her agony. Most of the process was hidden by the blanket wrapped around her, but it did nothing to stifle her shrieks of pain. The horrifying sounds of the transformation were made even more gruesome by his close proximity.

After what felt like an eternity, her body stilled and Christine fell back against him with a groan. All was quiet.

"Christine?"

She made no response. Her hair hung in wild ringlets. Her face was pale and drawn. She pulled the blanket close around herself and closed her eyes. "Angel?"

"No, Christine." He fought to keep a quaver out of his voice. "I am sorry, but I am not an angel. I am only a man."

"A man…"

"A man and a coward, who could not think of a better way to make your acquaintance."

She opened her eyes and looked down at their nearly entwined bodies. "I think you should consider us acquainted." She bit her lip. "And you are not a coward."

"You are too generous."

"No, a coward would have run from what he saw last night. Instead, you fell asleep next to a werewolf. That makes you braver than most men."

"Perhaps." His eyes searched her weary face. "I am sorry I lied to you."

She looked up at him. "I forgive you. After all, you were not the only one keeping secrets." Her hand slipped into his. "I've been alone since my father died. The angel was the first thing to give me hope. You made me feel like someone cared." She kissed his fingertips. "Thank you."

"You are not alone, Christine."

She gave him a small smile. "I had my suspicions when the angel did not know about my transformations, but I still felt compelled to keep them a secret. Surely an angel would not wish to teach a creature like me." She frowned. "I am an abomination."

"Never, Christine." He drew her hand to his face. "I would never call you such a thing."

"You might not, but many would." She ran a thumb across his sunken cheek. "You might be the first person I've met who could understand the feeling."

She stared into the shadows. "Every time I go through this, the pain is more than I think I can stand. The first time it happened, I was sure I would die." She turned to face him. "Imagining your voice has made it bearable. When there is music, there is no pain. When there is music, I am only Christine. No more and no less."

He looked at her in wonder. "How is it that you manage to convey the truth of my being so simply?"

"Do you understand the feeling? Is that why you sing?"

"It is why I sing, why I play, why I exist. Music is my one happiness, my one companion through years of isolation."

"Two lonely souls meeting in a graveyard, bound by music and secrets" she mused. "Doesn't that sound like the beginning of the most wonderful story?"

"I should like very much to hear it."


End file.
